After they reached Mompox, still shaken by that terrifying encounter, Catalina and Francisco found themselves in a difficult silence. Catalina's heart trembled with unease after hearing the legend of La Llorona, and Francisco—though trying to appear composed—was eaten away by guilt and fear.
He loved Catalina deeply, yet part of him dreaded that marrying her might bring ruin—to her, or to the growing industries he was building. It was a selfish fear, and he knew it. He needed power—real power—to change the rules that separated them, to marry her with honor. But then another thought crept in, darker than he wished to admit: What if the husband in that legend had once felt the same? What if love, mixed with fear and pride, slowly turned into cruelty? The question lingered like smoke, leaving him with a conflicted stare, unsure which path to take.
Carlos, watching his son and Catalina sit in uneasy silence, felt the weight of their turmoil. Yet he knew better than to press them. "All right, children," he said gently, breaking the still air. "We've arrived in Mompox. We'll stay here a few days, look into Mario's situation, and speak with the church. Perhaps they'll send someone to investigate this La Llorona affair."
Francisco and Catalina both nodded, dazed. Their eyes met awkwardly for a moment, then drifted away.
Carlos sighed. "Why don't you go with the servants, Francisco? I'll take Catalina and the rest to rent an inn in the meantime."
Francisco's expression softened with gratitude. He knew his father was giving them both time to think. "Don't worry, Father," he replied quietly. "I'll take care of it." He stepped down from the carriage, mounted his horse, and rode off with Mario and the others. He looked back several times at the carriage, his jaw tense—as if torn between duty and the desire to stay. But he knew distance, for now, was the only way to breathe again.
Once Francisco was gone, Carlos turned toward Catalina, who was staring absently out the window, lost in thought. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap. She wasn't just the daughter of a servant to him—she was almost like a daughter herself. Seeing her so quiet unsettled him.
"You know," Carlos began softly, "when my father arranged my marriage to Anna—Francisco's mother—she once felt as uncertain as you do now."
Catalina looked up curiously. "Why? Wasn't she a pure European?"
Carlos chuckled. "German, yes—but that meant Protestant blood. In those days, that was nearly as scandalous as being mestizo. Nobles found reasons to look down on anyone—blood, faith, or birth. Marrying Anna meant giving up any inheritance rights I might have had in Spain. It was... quite the sacrifice."
Catalina's eyes widened. "You had inheritance rights?"
Carlos gave a faint, rueful smile. "It's complicated. In theory, I shouldn't have had any—I was a bastard, born outside marriage. The Church and most nobles would have sneered at the idea. But fortune can be strange. When Felipe V took the Spanish throne, he brought with him a number of French bastards and gave them real power at court. There was even a case with the Duke of Osuna, where a bastard nearly inherited part of the duke's estate." He chuckled helplessly.
Catalina frowned slightly. "Didn't you say that was decades ago? And didn't that man fail?"
Carlos nodded. "He did—but the scandal terrified the nobility. The inheritance trial became a farce—false documents, endless hearings. Even seventy years later, people still whisper jokes about it."
Catalina leaned forward, intrigued by his story.
"So you see," Carlos continued, "my father feared something similar. He thought I might one day cause trouble—challenge the title, stir enemies, or give the Church a reason to meddle. Even if I had no real claim, the fight alone could wound the family's honor. So, he devised a plan: when he saw Anna and her mother traveling here, he decided to marry me to her. It tied my hands—and silenced any potential supporters, especially within the Church."
Catalina blinked, astonished. "That's... such a dark reason for a marriage."
Carlos smiled faintly. "You didn't think nobles live happy lives, did you?"
Catalina hesitated, then shook her head. "I suppose I thought they had problems, but not like that. For poor people, the struggle is survival—food, a roof, medicine. That always seemed worse."
Carlos chuckled. "Perhaps. But among the nobility, danger hides in silks and smiles. Intrigue, betrayal, quiet murders—it's all the same hunger, only dressed in perfume. Before my mother died, she warned me: 'Run to the colonies, before your brothers decide you're in their way.' And not a single day has passed that I haven't been grateful for heeding her advice."
Catalina's expression softened—part pity, part understanding.
Carlos leaned back, exhaling. "Anyway, let's not dwell on that darkness. Let me tell you instead about Anna—and the look of insecurity she once had, much like yours."
Catalina's ears perked up, her eyes curious again.
Carlos smiled wistfully. "To be honest, at first, I wasn't in love with her. She was like a little sister to me. But in time... she won my heart—just as you've won my son's."
Catalina smiled gently at that, but the warmth faded from her eyes as doubt crept back.
Carlos noticed, but pretended not to. "Of course, at the beginning, Anna was more frightened than anyone. She was a foreigner in a wild land, alone with her mother—and a Protestant besides. Even prayer was difficult; she couldn't turn to the Church without judgment. Then, during one of her darkest days, after her mother's death, she was told she must marry the son of her family's savior—a man whose union with her would cost him his inheritance, and who, sadly, was the only one in that household who treated her as a person. Imagine the weight of that guilt."
Catalina blinked. "That hard?"
Carlos nodded. "That's right. My father chose the worst possible day to tell that poor girl she was to marry his son. Honestly, even now I haven't forgiven him for it—though I doubt he ever cared." He gave a weary shrug. "She was in the worst situation I could imagine. When she told me the story years later, she admitted she'd even thought of taking her own life, just so she wouldn't be forced to hurt me."
He shook his head, the faintest trace of sadness softening his features. "But in the end, she chose to tell me the truth and wait for my answer. She decided that if I refused, she'd run away—find a small village somewhere in the colonies and live quietly. After hearing her confession, I simply embraced her and told her to marry me. Then I went straight to my father, told him everything... and earned myself a proper beating for it."
A faint smile returned to his face. "Still, we married—and those became the happiest years of my life." He paused, his tone gentler now as he looked at the pensive young woman beside him. "What I'm trying to say, Catalina, is that you must talk to Francisco before deciding anything. Acting on fear or insecurity can wound both of you. If Anna had chosen to end her life or run without speaking to me, I would have lost the greatest treasures I ever had Francisco and Isabella."
Catalina lowered her gaze, thoughtful. "I'll think about it. Thank you, Mr. Carlos."
Carlos chuckled softly. "You should call me father-in-law."
Catalina blushed and fell silent, though a quiet warmth settled over her. For the first time since that dreadful night, the shadows in her heart began to lift.